


the gift of the golden deer

by meowcosm



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Birthday Presents, Claurenz-typical bickering flirting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Group Hugs, Love Poems, M/M, Poetry, Pre-Relationship, Teasing, bad poetry? who's to say, just... soft, sort-of-established Lorenz/Ignatz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:22:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25510519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowcosm/pseuds/meowcosm
Summary: “If I’m honest, for you to have gotten me anything- it’s a little surprising.” Claude chuckled. “Did Byleth make you do this?”Despite the teasing joviality in Claude’s voice, the implication of his words seemed to frustrate Lorenz greatly, judging by the way his expression twisted into one of characteristic annoyance.“I’d prefer it if you weren’t so immediately dismissive of such gestures of goodwill. You are aware that I do not make a hobby of sharing these things.”-It's Claudes birthday. He has no plans to celebrate it.That won't stop his friends, whether he knows it or not.or; please hug and love and appreciate claude von riegan
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan/Ignatz Victor, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Ignatz Victor
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	the gift of the golden deer

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BDAY CLAUDE VON RIEGAN I LOVE YOU!!!!!!! KING!!!!!!!!!!!

All things considered, Claude hardly has reason to think that this year will be amongst his best birthdays. 

To be fair, it’s not like he’s had a previous winning streak. None of them have been  _ bad _ , per se, but they’ve been ample in their ability to convince him that, at the heart, there’s no huge difference between the Fodlanian and Almyran nobility. Which, in its own way, might be a gift- in trying times, it certainly doesn’t hurt to be reassured of your ideals. 

What is not, and has never been, a gift, is the perpetual cross-border charade of regal birthdays- twenty-four hours of rigorous costuming and coaching, all for the public’s good. Reciting clever words and performing faultless arrow tricks to a palace audience, each individual sizing him up for his potential- or lack of such.  _ Peering _ at him, as if he owes them something he hasn’t quite figured out how to give them yet. 

All so very  _ exhausting _ . It’s hard for Claude to believe that the purpose of such festivities is to celebrate his aging- his continued survival- rather than to age him even faster. It seems hardly unreasonable to Claude that he’s long wished for some alteration to the practice- he’d trade all the lavish gifts in the world for a day of complete peace and an evening feast, likely without thinking twice on the matter. Byleth’s invitation for tea was a pleasant alternative to such elaborate things, but that was at the Academy, where few were aware of his birthday in the first place, and there were hardly the resources for some greater event. Even during the war, only certain things were reduced in scale, with various key Alliance figures assuring him that a successful birthday celebration was nothing short of a  _ necessity _ in demonstrating the continued survival of the secretly-ailing territory. 

Now, though- even if the sincere lack of goods for such an event assured Claude would get his way, he could hardly find it in himself to celebrate the change. Or his birthday, for that matter. Whatever great peril laid on the other side of their continued onward push had not ceased to exist simply because he had aged another year.

It was not solely the material wealth which they lacked- it was the spiritual wealth. Claude had always figured that if one good thing came from his birthdays, then it was whatever renewed excitement and joy he could provide those in attendance. Perhaps he was not excited to give it, but if it improved morale, he could put up with it.

That 24th of the Blue Sea Moon was to be no source of cheer. For that reason, Claude put it aside in his mind as he dressed and prepared for the day, inevitably no less bogged-down by roundtable negotiations and strategizing than any other. 

-

Claude had, since the return to Garreg Mach, made it a habit to wake early in the morning.

Truthfully, it wasn’t that he  _ liked _ it, or that he wished to catch the sunrise (as beautiful as it could be). Like many things, it was a matter of propriety- or good image. Truthfully, when it came to matters of creating a surface-level self-effacing individual, the need to distinguish the two was an infrequent one at best. Rather, he’d found out, long ago, that to be the first and only person in the room was to control its narrative. For example, if his mother entered his study and found him reading from his texts unprompted, he could spin the matter of the time he’d spent on the task any way he wanted. Which was not to say he’d made a  _ habit _ of embellishing his academic advances- it was simply for the best that he appeared engaged. 

Similarly, to be the first one in the War Room was a choice that easily created the image of a man so devoted to the cause that he’d arrived hours earlier than he actually had. Even if such stamina was impossible- which, as far as Claude was concerned, it was. He’d tried it, once, and by the end of the day he’d begun to wonder if he’d accidentally left a trace of some lethargy-inducing poison on his clothes or his hands. The debacle had made him no more productive, and certainly no more coherent, than he would have been otherwise. 

He’d settled, then, for the  _ image _ of doing so. Which required an early rise, still, but was infinitely preferable. 

It was for that reason, then, that to sense the presence of others in the space before him brought an expression of surprise to his face. Not solely surprise, either- it was layered with apprehension, caused by the knowledge that unless he had woken earlier than intended, someone might be waiting behind the door for him. The only person that chose to depart the comfort of their room so early, and who could reliably be found in the seclusion of the war-room. He had made no arrangements for such a meeting, and though he lacked any confirmation on his part of even the idea someone was lurking inside (such was the nature of conclusions drawn only by the potentially-imagined sound of breathing), he could not bring himself to feel enthusiastic about entering the chamber. For it to be an assassin of some sort was certainly an overestimation of the severity of the situation- even Claude could admit that to himself. But he could not summon the thought that if there was, truly, someone inside the room, that they bore anything close to good news for him. 

At no point in his train of thought, his body too tense against the stone wall of the exterior to think of much joviality, had he considered, or remembered, the matter of his birthday.

Truthfully, there was little to be done on the matter. Claude’s image could certainly survive a single day of laxness, and if whatever news was borne on the other side of the wall was so critical that its owner could not wait until the daybreak for it to reach his ears, then there was no sense in keeping the occupant waiting any longer. With a jagged sigh, quieted for inconspicuousness, Claude tried his very best to release the tension he had built in his body, and took two broad, confident strides towards the doors. As if he had never questioned doing so, he gripped the handle and opened them, facing in the direction of the interior for immediate reconnaissance. A decision which faced him with two figures, cloaked by the shadows of early-morning sunrise, looking back at him with intent. 

_ Ah _ , he’d thought.  _ This isn’t good. _

Despite the light which seeped through the windows of the room, both figures were enshrouded in darkness. It wasn’t evident to Claude whether such a thing was intentional or not, but it hardly seemed _ right _ . To lurk in the shrouded points of the room never indicated a desire to be seen- it was a disguise tactic Claude had utilized before, and would likely utilize again. At the same time, neither figure made any attempt to flee, nor did they seem perturbed by Claude’s entry.

That was, until the shorter of the figures turned his head to the other individual, almost whiplash-fast. 

“I told you,” the unknown being lectured, “that he’s always up this early.”

Claude recognized that voice. The sleep-induced fog of his brain presented some barrier to identifying it, but he  _ knew  _ it. That, in itself, was somewhat comforting. The sudden presence of a stranger was certainly a more intimidating prospect than most others. 

He had no time to think further on the matter, however, before another voice broke the silence.

“ _ Most people _ sleep in on their birthdays, you know.” 

Despite the obvious reference to himself in the statement, Claude could tell the words were far from directed at him. More than anything, though, they were spoken with the same familiarity which had echoed in the previous voice, albeit still unidentified. 

He had, in that moment, half a mind to interrupt the conversation. But before he could, the two heads had turned towards him, staring at him straight on. 

“I apologize for my…  _ outburst _ , Claude.” the taller one spoke, tone different from the admonishment it delivered only moments earlier. At the sound of his name being spoken, Claude was somewhat taken aback- whoever this was, they certainly knew his name. 

Really, he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to find that reassuring. 

“We’ve been waiting for you,” they continued, “and I cannot deny that you’ve shown up earlier than we expected. So I apologize for any  _ insufficiency _ in our gifts for you.”

“You don’t need to rehearse any further, Lorenz. I promise that you’re fine as you are.”

_ Lorenz? _

_ A gift? What in Fodlan is going on? _

“...Lorenz?” 

A short huff erupted from the back of the room- Claude guessed that it originated from the taller figure. 

“Who else?” it chattered back. “I know you might not have expected me, but I hope you haven’t  _ forgotten _ me-” 

“Please, Lorenz, for the sake of the Goddess. Let  _ me _ do the talking, alright?”

Now that some greater energy had entered the other voice, Claude felt as if he could better pinpoint it.

_ Ignatz.  _

_ Why is Ignatz here? _

Before Claude could inquire on the matter, Ignatz coughed, clearing his throat. He shuffled audibly in his seat, and looked more decisively upon Claude, still hesitating in the mouth of the doorway. 

“I’m sorry, Claude. I hope we haven’t disrupted anything important.” 

For the first time that day, Claude stuttered some brief sentence out of his mouth. 

“I- you haven’t.” 

Claude took a brief moment to compose himself before he continued on from the awkward sentence, having almost tripped over it in the first place. 

“Though I don’t know why you’re here.” 

_ Rather impolite _ , Claude reminded himself. 

“Not that I’m looking to quash your enthusiasm.” 

“That’s alright.” Ignatz piped up. “It’s not as if we were doing much except for waiting for you.” 

Before Claude could interject on the matter, Lorenz cut him off again- albeit unknowingly. 

  
“ _ I _ was,” he insisted, typically petulant, “and  _ I’ve _ been interrupted.”

By that point, nothing either of the two had said had done much, barring further confusing Claude, who had broadly forgotten about the matter of taking a seat, absorbed as he was in the lover’s quarrel playing out before him. 

“Well, I apologize.” Ignatz didn’t distinguish the subject of his apology- Claude supposed it could be for either one of them, though he needed an apology much less than he needed an explanation. “But Claude is here now, and if you care for my opinion on the matter, I think you were doing just  _ wonderfully _ .”

Despite Ignatz’s reassurance- the context of which Claude couldn’t pretend to understand- Lorenz huffed, and crossed his legs with enough force to send the wooden chair squeaking across the floor. Still, regardless of what Ignatz had meant by the statement, it seemed to Claude that it had managed to silence Lorenz- no mean feat at the best of times. With the endlessly contentious voice in the room silenced, Ignatz turned back towards Claude, his face illuminated somewhat by a stray shard of dawn sunlight reflecting off of the lens of his glasses. 

“Sorry, Claude. Though I should probably stop apologizing for Lorenz,” - Ignatz looked back behind him, just for a brief moment- “as I know you can do it yourself.”

At the condemnation of his character, Lorenz whined again. Claude couldn’t help but find it amusing, though he sympathized with the sentiment of being interrupted while perfecting a public display. Which seemed to be what he was planning, though neither his purpose or his methods felt intuitable to Claude. If anything struck him, it was the confidence and dignity with which Ignatz spoke, evidence of the more confident demeanour that Claude had witnessed ever since their mutual return to Garreg Mach.

“N-now,” Ignatz spluttered, some old nervousness returning to him, “I imagine you’re looking for an explanation. Since neither of us have given you one.” 

Claude didn’t volunteer a spoken answer, but he nodded, as if the question hardly needed to be posed. 

“Of course. And, though I know I said I wouldn’t apologize, I do want to say sorry for surprising you so soon after you’ve woken up. It wasn’t my idea.”

“So it was Lorenz’s idea.” Claude inquired.

Unsurprisingly, Ignatz gave him a curt nod, while Lorenz’s sigh and shaking head disrupted the shadows gathering in the corner of the room. 

“Yes. He wasn’t happy about the idea of giving you your gift in front of the others. That’s all.”

Though Claude knew some expression of wit was expected on his part, his mind came to stammer each time he tried to summon any vaguely insightful sentiment. The mention of a  _ gift _ \- which he’d heard no previous reference to- caught him severely off guard, and he had to restrain himself from choking on the thought of the word. 

_ A- gift? From Lorenz? _

“I’d have been happy to present mine for an audience.” the shorter of the two continued.    
  
_ A gift from Ignatz?  _

“I mean- I’d probably feel nervous. But I already feel nervous. So I figured I might as well accompany Lorenz, since he was insisting he couldn’t do it alone.” Ignatz’s voice became faster as he spoke, and Claude began to get the sensation that he was talking more to hear the sound of his own voice than to inform Claude of what was going on.

“Sorry,” Claude interrupted, an incredulous tone contributing to the lilt of his voice, “but I still don’t know what you’re talking about. If you want to start playing a guessing game with me, you might have to throw a few more hints my way.”

“Oh. Right.” For the second time in those brief few minutes, Ignatz glanced backwards, though the target of his eyeline was no longer Lorenz- it was something that Claude couldn’t pick out, a cloaked, rectangular shape stored in the back of the room.

If it had been there before, Claude hadn’t noticed it, and he did his best to notice whatever he could, whenever he could. 

“We have birthday presents for you, Claude.”

It hit him, then, the likely meaning of the entire debacle, and Ignatz’s enunciation of Claude’s name became a faint thing in the back of his mind, crowded out as it was by the renewed thought of his  _ birthday _ . Which he had already vowed to cease thinking about- and up to that point, he had succeeded in the matter. 

But, Ignatz was right. It  _ was _ his birthday. Even if he wasn’t intent on celebrating it, his comrades apparently had other plans. 

_ Which _ , Claude pondered,  _ might not be so strange if it were Byleth, who knows my birthday like he knows everyone’s birthday- really, really well. To the point that it’s somehow as strange as all the other things about him _ . 

Such a thing would have been expected. But for it to be Lorenz, and  _ Ignatz _ , whose relationships with him had always featured some degree of antagonism- it seemed unbelievable.

But, here they were. And Claude had precious little to say to them other than why, his mind straining even at the prospect of a mumbled  _ thanks _ . 

To his relief, though, Ignatz hardly seemed to take Claude’s silence as evidence of contempt. Rather, he seemed almost to expect it, and he turned once more back to Lorenz, whip-fast and with a renewed sense of confidence. 

“Did we ever decide which of us was going to go first?”

“I do not think so.” Lorenz mumbled, a frown evident in his voice. “Though I don’t remember what it was which distracted us from our decision.”

“Probably the teapot thing again. I don’t think it matters, anyway.”

Though both had promised him a gift, Claude found it hard to say that the opportunity to so intimately observe their relationship wasn’t a welcomed asset already. Not solely for its comedic, or strategic, implications, but for the simple charm of their light bickering. Still, he did his best to not appear invested, lest they call attention to his attentions. 

“Perhaps it’d be best if you were first, Lorenz.” Ignatz continued. “When you’re nervous, the best thing to do is to get whatever you’re nervous about done. Then you don’t have to think of it any more.”

“Excellent idea- though I resent the idea that I’m  _ nervous _ . I simply prefer to have everything fully rehearsed before I speak.”

Lorenz’s constant reference to some sort of speech was amongst the other things which continued to bother Claude about the situation. If Lorenz’s choice of birthday present was a congratulatory speech- well, it would be hardly out of character, though not something Claude counted himself as a previous recipient of. 

_ Perhaps it’s a Fodlanian custom I haven’t run into yet _ , Claude contemplated.  _ Or- more likely- it’s just Lorenz. Always with something to say. _

“Do I need to tell you again that you’ve been doing fine, Lorenz?” 

“No,” Lorenz admitted, “but I won’t object to you doing so.”

_ Wow. They’re almost flirting with each other. _

For a moment, Claude entertained the prospect of pointing the amorous undertones of their conversation to them, but the resumption of Lorenz’s dialogue snapped him out of his wandering thoughts. 

  
“Claude.”

Their eyes met as Lorenz lifted himself from his seat at the back, taking to the floor with characteristic grace. For a moment, Claude wondered if he was expected to meet him in the middle- but before he could move, Lorenz had already reached the head of the table, and begun looking onwards at him. Without the shroud of light-formed shadows, Claude recognized something different about Lorenz’s appearance- not only did he wear an outfit rather more prim than would be expected for a morning meeting (even by Lorenz’s admittedly-high standards), but he clutched several scrolls of paper in his right hand, each bound with silken ribbon. From the brief distance between them, Claude could spot the stray black marks which dotted some parts of the exterior- no doubt the mark of some rather thorough, or markedly tipsy, writing work.

At the mention of his name, Claude said precious little, and waited for Lorenz to continue with his speech. 

“Byleth informed me it was your birthday only days prior to the event in question.” 

Something in Lorenz’s voice indicated regret, or disappointment. The reason for such feelings eluded Claude- if he was only begrudgingly celebrating his birthday, then there would be no reason for him to wake early, or rehearse whatever gift he had prepared.

“For that reason, I apologize if you find this insufficient. I am not pleased to share an unfinished work- but, on such short notice, it was the best that I could do.”

“Uh.”

It was rare for Claude to be speechless, or anything close to the point. But, for the first time in a long time, he found himself without recourse on the topic, and could only stand and watch as Lorenz unwound the ribbon he’d tied one of the bindings into, letting the scroll unfurl as it loosened.

“Lorenz?” 

By that point, Ignatz had already ducked out of view. Claude could see his shape shifting in the shadows, clearly fiddling with the object at the back of the room. Whatever Lorenz was preparing to show him; Claude came to the realization that he was the sole intended recipient of it, though Ignatz was likely already aware of the inner content. He came, also, to the realization that Lorenz had not heard him say his name, engrossed as he was in a final review of the scroll he held in front of him. In Lorenz’s eyes, Claude swore he could sense some exceptional disappointment, as well as an anxiety unusual for his… comrade. Lorenz could be considerate- to those he liked, and when he wanted to- but Claude felt a profound unfamiliarity with the reluctance in his eyes. Something about the strange doubt was-  _ intimate _ , as if gazing into the unfurled blooms of a centennial bloom.

He could have questioned it; could have interrupted. But he could not bring himself to do anything of the sort- he could only stand, leaning against the arch of the doorway, which Lorenz had eyed just seconds ago to make sure no eavesdroppers could lurk. Ignatz’s movements had calmed, and by the time Lorenz coughed, signalling the beginning of whatever strange performance he had scheduled himself to perform, nothing but the stinging silence of an empty room was left to fill the air.

“Ahem.” Lorenz began. “If you speak a  _ word _ of this poem outside of these walls, then I will- I  _ shall _ , ah- be  _ very _ upset with you, Claude von Riegan.”

Despite Lorenz’s stammering voice, Claude couldn’t help but assume the threat was serious. Still, the approaching performance of this poem- a style of literature which Lorenz had evidently complex emotions about- intrigued Claude too much for him to concern himself further with any vague warnings Lorenz could ply him with.

Lorenz coughed once more, drawing definitive attention to himself, and began. 

“ _ Hark, what light breaks through the boughs of trees? _ _   
  
_

_ Verily, it is the sweet rays of the sun _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Which call through stagnant air; and bring the wind. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ But if it were to be the moon; _ _   
_ _   
_ _ its silver fervour singing of each star, _ _   
  
_

_ then let none deny its truth.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Be us illuminated; regardless, _ _   
_ _   
_ _ by this great and loving splendor, _ _   
_ _   
_ _ which casts our waters glistening, _ _   
_ _   
_ _ mimicked by the soft pelt of a fawn. _ ”

Despite his evident initial nervousness, Claude had hardly seen Lorenz break composure since the moment he began to speak. Rather, he seemed engrossed in the work he had put together, forgetting for some brief moment the burden of being watched. And though he would not venture to disparage the poem- a memorable work, at least for one created in such short a timespan- that, really, was the second of the gifts Lorenz had provided him. Another glimpse of his unguarded self, acting without the pretenses he so transparently established in Claude’s presence. 

Indeed, though Claude planned to wait until Lorenz indicated he was ready to hear Claude’s thoughts on the work, doing so quickly exhausted his patience. For it was as if Lorenz was frozen, vision transfixed on the sheet he still held beneath him, shallow breathing evident from the erratic movement of his chest. 

It occurred to Claude, then, that Lorenz might have been waiting for _ him _ .

“Bravo, Lorenz.” Claude exclaimed, accentuated with the simple flourish of a hearty clap. “You’ve done excellently. And you were able to write it without reference to the Goddess.”

At the mention of his name, Lorenz’s face shot up, though his gaze did not meet Claude’s. Rather, it darted around, reaching every corner of the room- deflection which did little to conceal the rose-red blush which had coloured the pallor of his face. 

“ _ That _ conversation,” Lorenz admitted, “ _ did _ make me think. I wished to work on something more impressive, but I was informed of your birthday too late to devote the appropriate time to it.”

“If I’m honest, for you to have gotten me anything- it’s a little surprising.” Claude chuckled. “Did Byleth make you do this?” 

Despite the teasing joviality in Claude’s voice, the implication of his words seemed to frustrate Lorenz greatly, judging by the way his expression twisted into one of characteristic annoyance.

“I’d prefer it if you weren’t so immediately dismissive of such gestures of goodwill. You are aware that I do not make a hobby of sharing these things.” 

That, Claude very much was. Not only was there Lorenz’s flustered insistence that he did not, in fact, have some secretive reserve of poetry lying in his room, but there was the conversation he’d had with Manuela, who spoke amusedly of Lorenz’s youthful hesitance to share the poetry she’d found. He’d never spoken of the latter, nor did he expect Lorenz knew about it. But it had only served to reinforce what he knew. 

“And,” Lorenz continued, “if Byleth were truly behind my involvement in this affair, would it not make more sense for me to have bought you some rare tea, or a new weapon? I can afford such things, after all.”

That, also, was true. And, begrudgingly, Claude acknowledged to himself that he hadn’t considered the matter in as much depth as he could have. If Lorenz had been made to participate, against his will, then there was no shortage of opportunities for him to excuse himself from the affair.

What Lorenz had shown him was a sincere expression of the self; one Claude doubted anyone else would be privy to. Not for a long, long time.

“You’re right, Lorenz.” Claude conceded. The words didn’t feel right on his tongue, but there was little else he could say. “I- Thank you.”

“There is no need.” 

“I could tell you were nervous to read i-”

“I was  _ not _ ,” Lorenz insisted, “though I cannot say I am as proud of it as I wish to be. So if I appeared to have my nerves about me- consider it the impact of presenting what is akin to a half-formed battle plan.” 

“Ah.” Claude chuckled, warm and gentle. “You’re speaking my language. And don’t worry- I get it.”

Truth be told, Claude didn’t believe for a second that Lorenz wasn’t nervous. His body language before he began to speak was louder on the fact than any conventional speech could be. But there was no need to insist otherwise; not when he’d found himself so pleasantly surprised. And regardless of the upcoming duties of the day, Claude noted to himself that he should badger Lorenz for the written script, lest he remember any information incorrectly. 

“I won’t speak a word of this to anyone else.”

“Much obliged.” Lorenz responded, a curt grin creeping its way onto his face. Once more before Claude could get a word in edgewise, Lorenz had turned around whip-fast and called out for Ignatz, who had resumed his position in the dissipating darkness of the room’s once-cavernous back. 

  
“It’s your turn.”

“See? That wasn’t so bad, Lorenz.” With the results having been favourable to him, Claude could tell that Ignatz felt rather vindicated on the matter. 

Though Ignatz’s frame was not as visible as Lorenz’s, partially obscured as it was, Claude could nonetheless make out his movements, framed and defined by the weight and shape of the object he was carrying. A wide, flat thing, its entirety covered in gentle protective cloth that looked as if it might have cost a veritable fortune. If he were burdened by the thing, it was not evident; little time passed before he arrived next to Lorenz, gift clutched under-arm.

“I suppose it might seem a little typical on my front, but I decided it might be nice for you to see yourself painted. Though I’ve not ventured into portraits for the nobility previously, so please let me know if you spot any issue.”

Perhaps he would- Claude doubted he’d find it in himself to do so, regardless. Once more, to be given something of such intimate worth was wildly sufficient.

It was when the cloth was revealed from the painting that Claude began to see the piece as not solely sufficient, but  _ magnificent _ , in its own, understated fashion. Cloaked by a blanket of wind, shaped by the layered depth of various shades of pant, the Claude of the painting stood tall and resolute. Failnaught in hand, a great assemblage of forest creatures- most notable amongst them all the legendary Golden Deer- coming to surround him, great mountains beneath his feet- it was all very  _ much _ , in the way little often was for Claude. He could not imagine himself being as sheepish as Ignatz’s flustered expression indicated, not when presenting something like this.

“Byleth told me, too.” Ignatz muttered, some frightened need to justify himself returning. “I didn’t know it was coming up before then. Truthfully, this was in its beginning stages prior to that. But I wanted to present you something for your birthday, so I’ve been hurrying. 

Unsurprisingly, Ignatz was as dismissive as Lorenz- perhaps more- of his own work. Which was undeniably spectacular, and which Claude was transfixed by, each symbol and pattern forming a scene that was nothing short of _ theatrical _ .

“I should also confess,” Lorenz interjected, “that this painting was a partial inspiration for my poem. I chose to write about the figure Ignatz had captured- to  _ speak _ to him.”

Evidently endeared, Ignatz flushed.

“I hope that I’ve been able to convey that.”

It was hard, then, for Claude to focus on the conjecture between the two, subject as he was to a painting _ celebrating _ him, bound to no irony nor conservatism. Though he heard their chatter, it did not reach his mind; intercepted by a warming, once-unknown pride of self. 

To imagine that either saw him with such sincere dignity- that anyone could see him in such a way- it overwhelmed Claude, regardless of his initial skepticism. Facing the two contributors, some deep part of him grew weak, and he could do nothing to respond but bite back a flush of incoming tears. 

At the sight of Claude’s swollen eyes, reddened by an upswell of emotion, Ignatz gasped.

“Are you alright?” 

It was something in the genuine concern that dealt the finishing blow to Claude’s constitution; at the sound of it, a gasping cry escaped from his hoarse throat, accompanied by a single lonely teardrop.

“Y-yes-” Claude managed to choke out, “so don’t worry about me. I- I just-”

  
“Is there something wrong with the painting? If anything is inaccurate, I can-”

“No,” Claude interjected, “it’s perfect. It’s- very perfect.” He sobbed once more, albeit with greater joviality, spirit renewed with another glance at his own proud face. “Kind of embarrassingly perfect, actually.”

  
“I-I’m sorry-” Ignatz stammered, “-I don’t mean to embarrass y-”

Whatever words Ignatz had planned to conclude the sentence with were forced from his lungs as Claude leaned forward, drawing him into a generous hug. Despite his initial surprise, it was one that Ignatz quickly sank comfortably into, the warmth of Claude’s body surrounding him, his single tear shed onto the lush green of Ignatz’s dress-cape. 

“It’s wonderful.” Claude whimpered. “It’s hard to believe you made it for me.”    
  


Ignatz gave a mirthful chuckle, muffled by the soft fabric of Claude’s morning-blouse. 

“Who else would I have made it for? You’re our leader, Claude.” Gently, Ignatz patted Claude’s shoulder, a gesture of small comfort. “We wouldn’t be the Golden Deer if we didn’t celebrate you.” 

From behind the embracing two, Lorenz smirked.

“Be assured that this doesn’t mean we’ll let you forget about your duties. No painting can be a substitute for real leadership. But,” -Lorenz paused, and sighed- “you’ve shown yourself entirely capable. So, if you wish it, I don’t think any of us will begrudge you the day off, or a reasonable night’s sleep.” 

“And who will take over in my absence?” Claude inquired, a mirthful grin imprinted onto the tone of his words.

“Me.” Lorenz replied. 

“Hm. I’ll admit, I’m a little tempted to see how you actually deal with having my job.” Despite the mirth in his words, Claude’s voice remained choked, his swell of emotions far from having departed. “But- if you’re really so proud of me, then I don’t mind being busy.”

“If you insist. But I insist on assisting you whenever necessary, and I won’t be impressed if you try to take on everything alone.” 

“I won’t, either.” Ignatz murmured. “Even if you spend it working, today is your day.” 

“I’ll take it easy.” Claude sighed. “If I have to.”

“Yes, you  _ have _ to. I know it’s not in the nature of men like us to take leisurely breaks, but I hope that you’re able to allow it of yourself, just this once.” 

“And who are  _ men like us _ , Lorenz?” 

“Men of great integrity. _ Leaders _ . Do you not remember what I said? That the world would be awfully dull without you.” 

“Hmmmm…”

Lorenz’s cheeks flushed again, expression quizzical.

“Surely you can’t have disregarded it so soon-” 

“Perhaps you’d jog my memory a little if you joined the hug.” Claude chuckled, extending his arms out from behind Ignatz. Who, despite his initial squirming, seemed to surrender quite quickly to the prospect, muttering a muffled  _ fine _ under his breath.

His gaze rising above Ignatz’s shoulder, Claude could see Lorenz’s eyes widen with shock at the initial suggestion, followed by a rather forceful nod of the head. It wasn’t clear, however, whether the gesture was of impatience or reluctance- for that reason, Claude didn’t wait to beckon him forwards with a simple gesture of the hand. 

“C’mon,” Claude encouraged, “you can just think of it as hugging Ignatz, with a little extra on the side.”

“The subject of the-  _ hug _ \- is not the issue at hand. It’s-”

“Another birthday present, then?” Claude fluttered his eyelashes as he spoke, further flustering Lorenz, who was looking on at the two of them with reluctant endearment. 

“...Very well.” 

Truthfully, Claude had expected Lorenz’s concession to his insistence. He’d already been much more generous than Claude had known him to be, a gesture which filled him with surprising confidence. What remained unexpected was the force and will with which Lorenz pulled the two of them into a hug from the side, wrapping both Claude and Ignatz’s bodies in his resolute affection. Lorenz was proficient in the use of a lance- Claude knew that. But the strength with which he hugged them still surprised Claude- clearly, the slightness of his figure belied a greater strength. 

As Claude had realized from his secretive poetry habit, Lorenz could, indeed, be the meek sort when necessary. He could also be the kind type- so could Ignatz, the two of them approaching him so early with such sincere gifts, neither of which Claude had requested. It was warm, not solely physically, to be held by them- such a whole emotion, and so deeply wonderful.

“Thank you.” Claude rasped. “ _ Thank you _ .”

Those four words excited a laugh from both Lorenz and Ignatz, whose grips on Claude remained tight.

“As if you’re the one who should be saying that, Claude.” mumbled Ignatz. From the way pressure increased against him during Ignatz’s retort, Claude could guess that Lorenz felt much the same way. 

“We have much to thank you for. So save your own thanks, and consider us even. Consider yourself the leader of the Golden Deer, Claude.” 

_ Yes _ , Claude thought.  _ That’s me _ .

_ And people like me. They see me- they want me. Appreciate me. _

Warm, Claude pulled both Lorenz and Ignatz deeper into the comfort of the hug.

_ I could get used to this. _

**Author's Note:**

> ty for reading !! i love this pairing a lot in all configurations and i wanna write something more explicitly shippy for them at some point
> 
> kudos and comments are always appreciated!
> 
> my assorted ramblings on all configurations of claurenatz are on twitter @meowcosm


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